Heir to the Seat of Sundered Kings
by My blue rose
Summary: In 2979th year of the Third Age, Ecthelion the Steward of Gondor sends a delegation to the North in an attempt to discover the true origins of Captain Thorongil. A cannon compliant story that features action, adventure and Third Age politics.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This story was partly inspired by the fic Rangers of the North by Morwen Tindomerel and, as such, it loosely resembles her plotline until about chapter five.**

**Warning to sensitive readers: this story contains graphic depictions of battle, if you find this disturbing, you probably shouldn't read this story.**

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><p><strong>Chapter One: Outskirts of Bree<strong>

The sun was low in the West, glinting off the helms of three Men and the bridles of six horses whom stood some distance outside the dike and hedge that protected town of Bree. It seemed a small and rustic town to Haelmir's eyes, accustomed as he was to the large stone cities of Gondor. Yet it was the first settlement of Men they had seen since before they crossed the Greyflood. They had spent all of yesterday and the day before crossing over chalk downs that had reminded him of his childhood in Dor-en-Ernil when his father had taken him and his brother Adrahil camping in the Hills of Tarnost.

"Do you think they close the gate at night?" Húrin asked, his clean shaven face hopeful, as he gestured to entrance where a large wooden gate was set over the road leading into the town.

"They do if have any wits," Handir replied in his customary dry manner, stroking the neck of his great black horse Morsûl.

"Come, lad," Haelmir said as he removed his belt and pulled his blue leather surcoat embossed with the Silver Swan of Dol Amroth over his head. "Let us free ourselves from this armor, least we frighten these town folk,"

"'Tis too warm for it this time of year anyway. And Uncle, you know I am not a lad anymore," Húrin said while undoing the buckle of his belt.

Haelmir supposed his nephew was correct; Húrin was twenty five now. They had celebrated his birthday ere they left Gondor. Yet his own son was only a year older. Aye, he was getting old and he had only reached eight and fifty years. His Lord Father had died two years past, aged one hundred and eleven. Haelmir had at least another forty years left in him. As he unlaced his blue brigandine, he noticed that Handir had not even removed his helm.

"Handir?" he asked.

"My Lord, do you think this wise? We do not know these Bree folk."

Haelmir shook his head. Handir had married his daughter six years ago, yet he insisted on calling him lord. His son-in-law was a cautious man, slow to speak and slower to trust. Yet he was honorable, well versed in woodcraft and an excellent leader. Were he not, Handir would never have survived to become a Captain of the Ithilien Rangers at thirty and four years of age.

"They seem a simple folk and we have not seen any who even bear arms. The dwarves we met a few weeks ago said there was a good inn here. It would be well to sleep in a bed again and they might have knowledge of those whom we seek."

Handir grunted in acknowledgement and began to unbuckle his black leather brigandine.

"Captain, you should be grateful! This means you will get to wash properly," Húrin said with a teasing smile.

Húrin was a Ranger of Ithilien in the Company under the command of Handir. The Captain was well known for being fastidious about his appearance, much to the amusement of his men. For they spent much time in the wilds of Ithilien far from home and bathhouse. His nephew might jest but a proper wash would indeed be nice; the last one they had was when they crossed the Greyflood eighteen days past. Though his son-in-law had taken to using the water from the fens they traversed to maintain his ablutions, Haelmir did not attempt to match the level of grooming he was accustomed to in Minas Tirith.

Haelmir breathed a sigh of relief his gambeson came off. It felt good to divest himself of his armor. It was four days after Loëndë and his nephew was right, it _was_ too warm for armor. They had scarce dared to be remove their arms since they left Edoras and there were few things more uncomfortable that sleeping in a hauberk. Still, it had not been in vain. None of the Men in the small villages in Dunland had dared accost anyone as well armed as they were.

They had set out from Minas Tirith on the Great West Road on the 23rd of Viressë, as soon as the rains had lessened. They had pushed hard, hoping to be able to make the return trip home ere the onset of winter. They made good time, covering the hundred and twenty leagues to Edoras in only twenty days. After spending five days in Thengel's hall gathering supplies and information they departed, reaching the Gap of Rohan on the 24th of Lótessë. From there they had headed Northwest into Eriador.

They were unable to travel as swiftly for the Old North-South Road was in disrepair and had been scavenged for stone in many places, leaving miry pits where the road should be. Though the Enedwaith in was on record as a fiefdom, Gondor had lost control of it centuries ago after the Great Plague in 1636. The Dunlandings that inhabited the land did not recognize Gondor's authority and she did not possess the strength to reclaim the land, harried as they were by the Dark Lord in the East, Easterlings in the North and the Haradrim in the South.

They reached the ruins of Tharbad on the river Greyflood on the 16th Nárië after having covered a hundred and ten leagues in twenty two days. The once large city had been ruined by floods and deserted sixty six years ago. They took several days rest among the derelict stone buildings which reminded Haelmir painfully of Osgiliath. They forded the river Greyflood near the destroyed bridge and went North into the wild fenlands beyond.

It had been hard going since then.

What their map titled the Northern Road was not a true road at all. It was called The Greenway and for good reason; it was made of packed earth, though the gravel suggested it had once been paved, and was so overgrown their horses could graze upon it. They could not travel very fast on such a road and the swampland around them was swarming with mosquitos that had eaten them alive every night. Ten days into their journey one of Húrin's horses had thrown a shoe and they had been forced to stop for the day and the next. They were fortunate that Handir had some skill as a farrier or they would have had to travel even more slowly.

They had traveled three hundred and twenty five leagues in seventy four days; yet they were no closer to finding what the Lord Steward had commanded them.

"I wish I had a clean gambeson," Húrin muttered, wrinkling his nose at the black woolen garment he had just removed.

Haelmir privately agreed. Both of his indigo gambesons were soaked with sweat after so many days on the road. His under tunics were no better, stained grey with body oil. But there was nothing for it unless they found a place to wash their clothes. He took off his boots so he could remove his chausses and greaves. He wrapped his armor in oilcloth to protect it from rust then stowed it, and his surcoat in two empty saddle bags. From another bag he withdrew a fine black linen tunic with silver vines embroidered at the neck and cuffs. He had not worn it since he was in Thengel's court, saving it for an occasion such as this.

His companions did not have any clean over tunics, so they once again donned their black leather surcoats emblazoned with the emblem of the White Tree. Haelmir adjusted his sword in its sheath on his belt. He loosened it so he could draw it swiftly. While he did not expect trouble in the town, one could not be too careful. He looked and saw Handir doing the same. His brother-in-law's face was impassive but his eyes were bright and Haelmir knew the man well enough to know he was looking forward to a staying in an inn after so many nights beneath the stars.

He nodded and the three Men made their way toward the Gate of Bree.

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><p><strong>Glossary<strong>

**Surcoat (English)**: outer garment worn by knights over armor, often emblazoned with the coat of arms of the wearer. The ones described in this story extended to mid-calf, have slits in the bottom front and back, and are sleeveless. Their purpose is to reflect heat and to keep rain and filth of battle away from the easily corroded mail-links.

**Brigandine (English): **body armor worn over a gambeson and mail shirt. It is a sleeveless tunic usually made of canvas or leather lined with small steel plates riveted to the fabric. It is lighter than a cuirass and provides a greater degree of mobility. Its simple design also makes it easier to repair without the skill of an armorer. If you want to see of the kind of brigandine Handir and Húrin are wearing, go to Deviant Art and look up Black Brigandine by the artist Azmal.

**Hauberk (English): **a shirt of mail. Usually describes a shirt reaching at least to mid-thigh and includes sleeves.

**Gambeson (English):** a padded garment worn under armor which prevents chain mail from bruising the body under the impact of a blow. Usually buttons or laces up the front. If you want to see of the kind of gambeson Haelmir is wearing, go to Deviant Art and look up Gambeson by the artist Carancerth.

**23rd of Viressë, Stewards' Reckoning (Quenya): **15th of April Gregorian calendar.

**24th of Lótessë, Stewards' Reckoning (Quenya): **16th of May Gregorian calendar.

**Loëndë (Quenya): **Mid-Years day. Sumer solstice or June 22 Gregorian calendar.

**Farrier (English): **a specialist in equine hoof care, including the trimming and the placing of shoes on their hooves.

**Chausses (English): **leg armor that protects the thighs. Essentially chain mail leggings held in place by leather garter belts that are pulled on from the foot. Offers flexible protection effective against slashing weapons and some arrows.

**Greaves (English):** leg armor that protects the below the knees. There are two kinds: "closed greaves" that protect the shins and calves are made of two plates joined on the outside by hinges. "Demi-greaves" only protect the shins are made of one plate.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: The Prancing Pony**

Húrin noted that the gate was unguarded as the three Dunedain of Gondor led their horses through the narrow cobbled street. The town was filled with people returning to their homes for the evening. They were obviously of Edain stock, ruddy faced with brown hair and eyes. Captain Handir, the shortest of the three of them, was half a hand taller than the men. And Húrin himself, over two rangar tall, towered over them. The Bree folk eyed them with amazement and not a little suspicion with much muttering and pointing.

The road led them to a large three storied building of wattle and daub with a foundation of fieldstone. This matched the description the dwarves had given them of the inn in Bree and, by unspoken consent, the three of them entered the courtyard. There was a sign with the figure of a rearing pony hanging above the open door. A short, fat man in shirtsleeves came out at the sound of hooves on the cobbles. He raised his eyebrows in surprise but gave them a bow in greeting.

"Welcome to the Prancing Pony, Masters. I'm the innkeeper, Barnabas Butterbur, at your service."

"I am Haelmir son of Angelimir." His Uncle replied with his usual courtesy. "My companions are Húrin son of Hador and Handir son of Nordir. We will require supper, a room for the night and stabling for our horses. And if there is any woman we might employ to launder our linen we would be very grateful."

Húrin nodded, thinking of his stinking under tunic. At least he had managed to keep his surcoat presentable, if not clean. He helped Captain Handir remove their saddle bags and tack from the six horses while Haelmir talked to the innkeeper, haggling over the cost of room and board. They had just finished removing the saddle blankets when Master Butterbur called for someone.

Out of the door came a child, clad in brown breeches with a white shirt and red vest. Húrin noticed as he looked more closely that his bare feet were covered with curly brown hair like the top of his head. He realized it was not a boy at all but a Halfling, right out of tales his Grandmother used to tell him when he was a lad.

"Yes sir, Mr. Butterbur?" the Halfling asked.

"Bob, get these horses and saddles to the stable while I show our guest to their room," turning back to the three of them he continued. "You must have been on the road a long time, Masters. Can I draw you a bath? It will take some time to heat the water but it should be ready after you've had some supper,"

"You have baths?" Captain Handir's voice was so full of hope that Húrin started laughing.

Handir scowled at him but he grinned, inured to the man's irascible nature.

"Yes sir, we do. It will cost a penny for the three of you,"

Húrin wondered if a penny was worth the same as a Castar. He was paid eight such coins a week as a Ranger but he thought a hot bath might be worth a day's wage, dirty as he was. His Uncle must have thought so as well because he agreed readily, handing over the coins for their baths, room and meals. The innkeeper looked at the unfamiliar coins with a practice eye, bit them to make sure they were solid silver, then nodded, satisfied. He led them down a hall to a small sitting room with a fireplace, table and chairs.

"There's your bedroom through that doors Masters. You'll have to double up but no doubt you'll be comfortable. If you put your clothes in the corner my wife will come round and wash them for you tomorrow."

Master Buterbur left and they did as he suggested pilling their laundry in the corner of the sitting room and placing the rest of their bags in the bedroom. There was a short argument between the Captain and his Uncle about someone staying to look after their things but Haelmir dissuaded his son-in-law with a few words. As the sun set below the horizon, they found themselves seated at a table in the Common Room, the object of covert stares and whispers from the local patrons.

Pewter tankers of ale were brought to them by the Halfling while the innkeeper came with bowls, spoons, a kettle of pottage, and a loaf of bread already slathered with butter. The meal was plain fare but it felt like a feast. They had been subsisting for many days on soup made of barley and whatever they could forage or shoot from horseback.

"We don't see folk like you often in Bree," Master Butterbur explained, glancing at his other customers as he ladled the pottage, thick with chicken bones and vegetables, into the bowls.

"You're not Elves are you?" blurted the Halfling whom stood next to their table, radiating curiosity.

Captain Handir choked on the ale he was sipping. Húrin laughed and cut himself a slice of bread.

"Nay, we are Men of Gondor." His Uncle said, his countenance composed as ever.

"Don't talk nonsense, Bob! Get to the kitchens and help Molly with the bathwater," Master Butterbur ordered, looking embarrassed.

"You must forgive Bob, Masters." He said apologetically. "He is only just out of his tweens, you know. I would not have taken him on but his Da died last winter, from the lung fever that went round, and his family could use the money. He has four younger siblings and their nearest kin lives in North Farthing, too far away to be of any help."

His Uncle assured the Man that they had taken no offence while Húrin wondered what 'tweens' meant.

"Men of Gondor," Master Butterbur repeated. "Why, that's far South, isn't it? You're a long way from home. "

"Indeed we are." His Uncle agreed. "Did you know Gondor once had a sister kingdom here in the North?"

Master Butterbur nodded, frowning. "Folk say that Kings once ruled here, but that was hundreds of years ago."

"Their main cities were North of here, Annuminas and Fornost. Does no one live there now?"

"Only thing North of here is Deadman's Dike and that's Wild country. No settled folk out that far, Master. Just the Rangers."

"Rangers?" Húrin echoed curiously. He saw Captain Handir look up from his pottage at the word.

"A lot of wanderers," The innkeeper replied dismissively. "Vagabonds. Folk say they serve some Lord but if you ask me they're brigands. They behave themselves well enough here in Bree but I wouldn't care to meet one in the Wilds. They're a dangerous bunch of Men. Even carry swords, some of 'em," Master Butterbur said, as if this was irrefutable evidence of roguery.

Húrin heard Handir snort derisively into his tankard; the three of them still bore their swords at their belts.

What do they look like, these Rangers?" His Uncle asked.

"They're a lot of tall, dark, grim faced Men." Master Butterbur said. Someone called for more ale and innkeeper departed, giving them a nod.

"Tall, dark, and grim faced? Sounds like he is speaking about you, Captain." Húrin teased.

Captain Handir did not deigned to reply but his Uncle smiled at him.

"Perhaps you are right, Nephew. I should like to meet some of these Rangers."

"Bandits living in the Wild? Thorongil could not have come from such Men." Captain Handir objected.

"Even so, we will continue North. Mayhap they are like the Rangers of Ithilien." His Uncle replied.

Captain Handir snorted incredulously. "Is it wise, my Lord, to seek out such potentially dangerous folk?"

"Perhaps not," His Uncle sighed. "But 'tis our only lead and we must make better progress. I do not wish to overwinter in this place."

"I will drink to that," Húrin said. He was glad that, unlike his companions, he did not have a wife he must worry about returning home to.

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><p><strong>Glossary<strong>

**Hand (English):** an old measurement equal to four inches, now exclusively used for measuring horses. Handir is 6 ft. tall and the men of Bree average about 5 feet 10 inches. Húrin is 6 feet, 6 inches and will one day be known as 'the Tall'.

**Rangar (Quenya):** a measure used by the Númenóreans and their descendants in Middle-earth. One ranga was defined as the length of the stride of a man walking at ease or 38 inches. A height of two rangar was conventionally referred to as 'man-high', meaning that the average height of a Dúnadan was 6 feet, 4 inches.

**Wattle and daub (English): **a composite building material used for making walls in which a woven lattice of wooden strips called wattle is daubed with a sticky material usually made of some combination of wet soil, clay, sand, animal dung and straw. Wattle and daub has been used for at least 6000 years and is still an important construction material in many parts of the world.

**Castar (Westron):** a silver coin used in Gondor also called a Mirian (Sindarin). I am guessing it is probably equivalent to a day's wages for a laborer, such as a farm hand or soldier, much like the Roman denarius.

** "…you'll have to double up"** **(English): **bed sharing was common until the later part of the 20th century and still is in many parts of the world. This is especially so among men in the military: if you have ever seen American Civil War tents in which a half dozen men slept in a space ten feet wide you will understand what I mean. My own grandmother slept in the same bed as her sister until she moved out when she was eighteen.

**Pottage (English): **a thick soup or stew made by boiling vegetables, grains, and if available, meat. It was a staple food from neolithic times to the Middle Age consisting of various ingredients easily available to serfs and peasants and could be kept over the fire for a period of days, during which time some of it was eaten and more ingredients added.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three: Departure**

Handir awoke at the sound of someone moving about. He groped his for his sword before remembering that he was lying in a bed at an inn and the noise was someone in the sitting room. Húrin, asleep beside him on the bed, did nor stir. As a Ranger he had learned to sleep lightly and woke frequently during slumber; yet this night he slept soundly. Perhaps because this was the first proper bed he had slept in for months.

Handir wondered what time it was. The Sun had not yet risen; the window showed naught but blackness outside. From the sounds of gentle breathing Lord Haelmir was still asleep in in the neighboring bed. The sounds in the next room ceased. Relaxing back into the goose down bedding, Handir closed his eyes and returned to sleep.

When he next woke the room was bright with midmorning light and he was alone in the room. He got out of bed, scowling. He searched around but could not find the surcoat, trousers and under tunic he had worn the night before. He had been loath to put on the soiled garments after his bath last night so he had slept in his braies. He had laid out his clothes at the foot of the bed but they were no longer there.

Muttering imprecations under his breath, he wrapped a blanket from the bed around his bare chest hoping this was not some prank. He opened the door to the sitting room where he found Húrin in a chair. He was stropping a razor with a strip of leather, a small mirror, brush and bowl of soapy water on the table beside him.

"Why did you let me sleep so late? And where are my clothes?" Handir demanded.

Húrin smiled, insufferably cheerful as ever.

"Uncle thought you should get as much rest as you may for he desires to depart today. Your clothes," he pointed to a folded pile of linen atop two saddle bags. "I had them laundered after they finished with our other garments. The rest of your clothes are in the bags beneath. Your surcoat is still out on the line with your gambeson, I am afraid."

"Thank you," Handir said, surprised by his thoughtfulness. Húrin shrugged and began lathering his face with the horsehair brush dipped in the soapy water.

"Think nothing of it. I bought some linseed oil. You might want to oil your armor. I have already done mine. Best be quick about it though, Uncle will want to leave after midday meal."

"Where is Lord Haelmir?" he asked, putting on his undyed under tunic and black trousers, both woolens smelling faintly of lavender.

"He is getting supplies. I never thought I would say this, however I am looking forward to eating waybread after subsisting on naught but soup for a month. You may borrow my razor after I am through with it," Húrin said as began shaving.

Handir shook his head. Húrin was the only Ranger whom carried a small shaving kit with him and every morning of their journey he had insisted on using it. He said it was because he could not yet grow a proper beard but Handir privately though it was because the man no woman he must impress.

Handir shuddered to think what his wife, Mithrellas, would do to him if he shaved his beard. He kept his whiskers trimmed short using his shears and polished bronze signaling mirror ever few days in hopes that his wife would find him unchanged when he returned. If he was fortunate she would be with child; they had been attempting to conceive their first ere he left.

He retrieved his armor from the bedroom then sat down in the chair opposite Húrin. There was a small skin of oil and a rag on the table. Daubing the rag with oil, he set to rubbing it into his mail. Soon as he finished shaving, Húrin used the oil on his boots making inane comments occasionally. Thankfully, the man did not expect him to respond and he passed the time in companionable silence.

It was a little after midday when Lord Haelmir returned, arms laden. Handir was repairing his brigandine. One of the steel plates had come loose from the black leather and he had set about riveting it back in place. Húrin was oiling Lord Haelmir's armor, his clean under tunic now spotted with grease stains. Placing his brigandine on the table, Handir rose to help his father-in-law with what turned out to be bags of barley, oats, potatoes, salt, waybread and several water skins.

"You oiled my armor? That was good of you, lad. Master Butterbur will be here shortly with our lunch and I would like to have all our things ready before then,"

"What took you so long, Uncle?" Húrin asked as they began to repack their saddlebags.

"Oh, this and that," Lord Haelmir replied vaguely.

Handir snorted and Húrin rolled his eyes behind his Uncle's back. Working together they managed to get most of their things stowed before the innkeeper brought them their meal consisting of last night's pottage and more bread and butter. Handir ate ravenously, having missed breakfast, while Húrin finished packing. The door opened and in came Bob, one of the queer little folks that seemed to live in Bree. He wondered if they were a short race of Men or perhaps a kind of Dwarf? Mayhap he would ask Lord Haelmir about them when they departed.

The little servant had his arms full of the remainder of their clothes that had been drying. They thanked him and he gave a bow before leaving, shutting the door behind him. They donned their armor, helping each other with the fastenings and buckles. Finally they put on their surcoats and went to the courtyard to load the bags on their horses. Handir checked the tack, pulling on the straps to test their give. Satisfied, he mounted Morsûl, his ill-tempered black stallion.

It was midafternoon by the time they departed, heading North on the Greenway for what Master Butterbur had called Deadman's Dike which was located where Fornost was on their map. The road was little better than it had been South of Bree but the land was more enjoyable. Where before they had been traversing fenland now they were passing through a flat plain with golden, knee high grasses. The day was warm but there was a cool breeze from the West that made it bearable.

Super that night was a pleasant affair. There were no trees but plenty of wood could be gathered from the bushes that grew along the side of the road. Húrin had managed to shoot a rabbit with his short bow and the stew that night was one of the best they had so far with the addition of the greens he had foraged. Best of all was the water skins that Lord Haelmir had bought which were full of the Prancing Pony's excellent ale. Handir fell asleep to Húrin playing his flute as he took first watch under the bright waxing Moon.

Three days later they were troubled for they had found no water sources and, with three Men and six horses to supply, their skins were near empty. They debated leaving the road and heading West where their map indicated a large river called the Baranduin. Their map depicted no closer water sources but it had been copied from a map of the North found in the Archives of Minas Tirith that was centuries old.

Lord Haelmir convinced them to press on because the Kings of old would not have built this road were there no water for travelers. They might be no better off heading for the Baranduin; water courses seldom remained in one place for long and the river might have migrated leagues to the West since the map had been made. Lord Haelmir was right; by the end of the day they came to a small creek running parallel to the road and they stopped to boil the water for filling their skins.

On the fifth day they could see what looked to be mountains or large hills is the distance and knew they must be the North Downs marked on the map. It was not until the morning of the seventh day that they reached their destination some forty one leagues North of Bree. They had seen no Men in all that time but Handir noticed signs of concealed campsites along the road, some of which looked recent. What sort of Men would hide the evidence of their camps save those with ill intent?

Handir wished Lord Haelmir would rethink the wisdom of meting these Northern 'Rangers'.

* * *

><p><strong>Glossary<strong>

**Braies (English):** a type of undergarment worn in the late Middle Ages. They generally hung to the knees resembling what are today called shorts but functioning like underwear. They were usually made of wool or linen.

**Short bow (English): **a small bow short enough to be used on horseback. Designed for hunting, it is good for shooting anything smaller than a dog. The one mentioned in this story is a self-bow, meaning that it is made of one piece of wood rather than composite materials. It has a draw weight of about thirty pounds.

** "…****boil the water for filling their skins."** **(English): **boiling water to kill the bacteria and viruses in it was only really common after the invention of the microscope. Prior to that everyone knew that drinking water made you sick which was why most everyone drank alcohol. I have come up with the idea that the Numenorians invented an early microscope (I like to think they have 17th century technology) and so they were aware of the need to boil drinking water to prevent illness and this knowledge is still preserved among the Gondorians.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four: The Northern Fortress of the Kings**

The three Men guided their horses up the switchback road that led to the ruins of Fornost Erain. To Húrin's eyes it did not much look like the ruins of Tharbad. The city had been constructed of stone walls, now crumbling, in a large circle atop a lower hill of the North Downs. Rising from its center was a smaller hill upon which he could see the foundations and stump of what must once have been a tower. Apart from the paleness of the stones, Fornost did not resemble the White City Húrin called home.

Yet he found it easy to imagine Minas Tirith likewise destroyed and her people dead.

"Uncle, do the records say anything about the fate of the Northern Dúnedain after the Northern Kingdoms fell?" he inquired as it seemed obvious that no one had lived here for centuries.

"They say very little, I am afraid. The Witch-King established the realm of Angmar around the year 1300 of the Third Age. Carn Dûm was its capital, and in the year 1409 the Witch-King invaded the three Northern Kingdoms. Cardolan and Rhudaur both fell swiftly but the Kingdom of Arthedain managed to hold out for some time."

Húrin noticed that Handir was listening intently, no longer scanning the landscape for threats.

"Yet in 1973 their King, Arvedui, sent messages to King Eärnil II of Gondor seeking his aide. Angmar was preparing its final assault upon them and they did not have the strength to withstand it. You ought to know from your history lessons that the King sent his son, Prince Eärnur, with a fleet of ships to Lindon in 1975 but that they arrived too late to save them."

His Uncle looked up at the ruined tower, voice sorrowful.

"The kingdom of Arthedain perished in 1974 when the Witch-king captured Fornost. King Arvedui and his company took shelter in the North after failing to drive the Wraith from his city. He perished in Icebay of Forochel when his ship sank as he attempted to return to his people. His son, Aranarth, and the greater part of the Northern Dúnedain found refuge with the Elves of Lindon. The combined forces of Prince Eärnur's Men, the Elves of both Lindon and Rivendell, and the surviving forces of Arthedain were able to destroy Angmar. They retook this fortress in the Battle of Fornost in 1975."

Haelmir was silent for a moment as they entered the city, passing through the partially destroyed gatehouse.

"Years later, when Eärnur was killed and Gondor without a King, Aranarth sent a letter to Mardil the Steward. He declared his claim to the throne as the Heir of Isildur and the son of Firiel, daughter of King Ondoher. But his message was dismissed without much consideration. To answer your question, lad, no word has come from the North since that day."

"That was over nine hundred years ago." Húrin said, incredulous.

"Aye," his Uncle sighed.

And they were expected to treat with these Northern Dúnedain, provided they still existed. Húrin shook his head, glad his Uncle was heading this embassy and not himself. He understood why his Grandfather Ecthelion thought there might be descendants of Númenor in the North; Thorongil was proof enough. But he did wonder why the Steward thought such Men might ally with them, had they indeed the strength to do so, after all that had passed between their two peoples.

They walked the horses through the city which was silent, save for the cry of birds. There were trees everywhere; towering giants thrusting aside the crumbling stonework to saplings springing between the stones. Húrin recognized birch and beech, oak and elm, rowan and aspen. They reached the hill in the center of Fornost quickly where dismounted so they might ascend the road that headed up to the remains of the tower. It was too steep for the horses so they hobbled them, leaving the animals to graze on the grass growing on the hill.

At the top of the hill in front of the tower's foundations was a courtyard. From its edge Húrin gazed down on the city, its roofless walls cloaked in ivy, to the vast plain beyond. He turned to inspect the tower noticing that there bloomed many small flowers among the courtyards broken flagstones. Some he did not recognized. Húrin was fond of gardening and thought he must see if he could harvest some seeds so he might plant them in his own garden at his family's townhouse in Minas Tirith.

"The Northern Dúnedain never returned here," he said, wondering why no Men had rebuilt and resettled here for even in its derelict state the city was beautiful.

"So it seems," His Uncle replied, voice soft.

"Yet perhaps they have lingered near." Captain Handir said, pointing. Húrin went to where the man was standing at the edge of the courtyard. In the waning light he could discern a thread of pale smoke rising between the hills to the East.

"We shall head there in the morning," his Uncle said. "But come, let us descend so we might make camp ere the light fades."

They made camp outside the ruined city at the base of the hill, by the creek next to the road so the horses might have water. Húrin was eating the last of the waybread slowly, knowing it would be some time before they could purchase more. He dipped the pieces in his soup to soften them. He hoped they may take some time tomorrow so he might shoot another rabbit; he was getting tired of grain and potatoes. At least Handir could find something to flavor the stew; the man had truly missed his calling as a cook.

"There is a light out there," Handir said, standing a ways off from their fire and staring intently at the distant hills. "And 'tis not a campfire. It is candlelight, or perhaps from a lamp. There must be a house."

Húrin stood, placing his now empty tin cup back in his pack; he would wash it in the morning. He went over to Handir, straining his eyes in the darkness. The hint of light that was reflected off the distant hillside was so dim he did not know if he would have spotted it by himself but the Captain was known for his keen eyes. Both men jumped as an unknown voice spoke softly behind them.

"You would be wise not to camp here for the night."

They spun, sweeping swords from their scabbards, to see Haelmir standing beside their fire his own sword drawn. Beyond him, at the edge of the light, stood a Man. He was taller even than Húrin, dressed in a brown leather cuirass. His grey cloak was fastened at his breast with a brooch of silver, shaped like a rayed star. Slung over his shoulder was a longbow in a case and his hand rested on the pommel of the sword on his belt. His dark hair was loose about his shoulders and his eyes seemed to glow grey in the firelight.

His Uncle found his voice first and, sheathing his sword, he gave a small bow to the man.

"Hail and well met! I am Lord Haelmir son of Angelimir. This is my nephew, Lord Húrin son of Hador, and this is my son-in-law, Handir son of Nordir."

"The Bree folk call me Hal," the stranger replied. "My nephews are known as Stalker and Walker."

Húrin saw there were indeed two other men behind him, standing so still and camouflaged in their grey cloaks he had not noticed them.

"What is your purpose here, Lord Haelmir son of Angelimir?" the man asked.

"We come from Gondor, a land far to the South. Our kindred once dwelt here in North and we would know if any yet live."

"Only the farmers of Bree and the Shire live round here. And us Rangers."

Even his Uncle could only stare at the Man whose features spoke clearly of Dunedain descent.

"They lived in this ruined city," Húrin tried, gesturing at Fornost whose white stones gleamed in the bright moonlight.

"Deadmen's Dike? Folk say that is haunted land. No on lives there."

"It was the city of the Kings of Old." Haelmir told him.

Hal shook his head. "I never heard of any Kings, old or no."

Húrin and Handir exchanged a look. Could this Man have the blood of Kings and Elves in his veins yet not know it?

"Go home, Lord Haelmir," the Ranger said. "You will find none of your kin here."

"You are certain of that?" his Uncle sounded doubtful and challenging, like he often did when he sat in Council.

"I am a Ranger. We know all who dwell in the Wild."

"Yet there is a house East of here." Handir said suspiciously. He alone had not returned his sword to its sheath. "We saw its smoke this afternoon and now there is light on the hills yonder."

"Some Ranger's cottage," Hal said dismissively. "But you cannot camp here. You must move."

"We are strangers in this land and unaware of your customs," Haelmir said reasonably. "But perhaps we could wait for the dawn? 'Tis hard to break camp in the dark. You and your nephews would be welcome to share our fire for the night,"

Handir grunted his displeasure at this offer but his Uncle took no notice.

"No. You must leave, now. It is not safe here." the Ranger said, voice suddenly hard.

"What do you me—" His Uncle started to say when the man on Hal's right cried in a loud voice whilst fitting an arrow to his bow.

"Ware! Yrch!"

* * *

><p><strong>Glossary<strong>

**Fornost Erain (Sindarin):** Northern Fortress of the Kings

**Hobbled** (**English): **hobbles are rope or leather straps used to restrain horses when stabling or a corral is unavailable, usually placed on the forefeet. The horse can move around to graze, but their stride is so shortened that they can't go very far or fast.

**Cuirass (English):** a piece of armor formed of a single or multiple pieces of metal or leather and consisting of a breastplate and backplate fastened together.

**"…brooch of silver shaped like a rayed star" (English**): quote from LotR, "The Passing of the Grey Company". The star worn by the Rangers.

**Yrch (Sindarin):** plural of Orc; singular orch. Also called goblins.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: A Battle in the Dark**

Orcs? Where?

The answer came at the snap of a bowstring against a bracer as one of Hal's companions fired an arrow into the darkness toward the hill that held the ruins of Fornost. Drawing his longsword, Haelmir squinted into the darkness, unable to see because of the light of their fire had destroyed his night vision. He heard the horses snort and stamp despite her hobbles but did not dare turn and glance at them. When his eyes had adjusted, he could discern dark shapes coming swiftly towards them, their swords reflecting the moonlight. He retreated so he could fight with Húrin and Handir at his back as Stalker let loose another arrow and one of the shapes fell.

Two score heartbeats later, they were upon them.

Haelmir had been twenty one when he had seen battle for the first time. It had been when his Father, the Prince of Dol Amroth, had assisted Gondor in recapturing Osgiliath. After proving his worth as a commander of Men, Haelmir had led a company of Swan Knights for twenty years in defense of his Princedom and in offence against Gondor's enemies. Until twelve years ago, when his Father had asked him to serve on the Council seat for Dor-en-Ernil. He had not seen battle since then, though he had been careful not to let his skill with the blade diminish and had visited the training grounds in Minas Tirith regularly.

The three of them were surrounded, yet he was not frightened for these Orcs did not seem as well trained or as well armed as the ones from Barad-dûr had been. They were a little over half the size of a Man, wearing boiled leather vests and bearing crude falchions. Haelmir traded blows with one of the foul creatures, keeping a wary eye on its fellows so they did not flank him. He crouched unexpectedly, sweeping his longsword sideways and managed to hamstring his opponent who crumpled, shrieking.

Another Orc sprang to take its place, and Haelmir was not swift enough to prevent it from raking its sword down his left arm, striking sparks from the mail of his hauberk. He hissed in pain but it was not so severe that he thought the arm broken. He stuck out with his boot, seeking to put some distance between them. It worked; the Orc retreated serval paces before pressing forward again and this time he was prepared. He brought his longsword down hard, aiming for the creature's neck.

The Orc attempted to block but his falchion, poorly made, shattered on impact. The force of Haelmir's blow carried through and his blade severed the large artery in its neck, spraying him with warm, fool-smelling blood. Spiting, he looked for another enemy and found that the battle was over. Nine Orcs lay dead in a rough circle around them. He looked across the fire to see how the Northerm Rangers had faired. They were all still standing, swords held loosely in their hands.

Haelmir noted that Hal bore a broadsword while his nephew's griped backswords and had targes on their left arms.

"Is this all of them?" one of them asked.

"I believe so. Taron thought there was no more than two dozen from the tracks. Still, it would be foolishness to remain here in this open land. We should make for the city and hole up till dawn." Hal answered.

Behind him, Haelmir heard Handir cursing that they had not had the time to don their helms. He turned to see how his men had faired and his heart clenched in his chest as saw that half of his Nephew's face was covered in blood. Húrin was pressing the hand not holding his sword to his forehead. Handir was gently attempting to draw the hand away so he might look at the wound. Dropping his sword because he did not want to return it to its sheath, befouled as it was with orc blood, he hurried over to his Nephew.

"It is not that bad, Captain. Only, it will not stop bleeding." His Nephew protested.

"Of course it is bleeding, that is what scalps _do_. And you must let me see it before I can judge whether it is bad or not." Handir said tersely.

Haelmir relaxed slightly. Húrin did not sound as if his wits had been addled. He did not know much about healing but he did know that head wounds were dangerous.

"Are you well?" Hal called as he and his Men walked over to them, their swords sheathed, shields now on their backs.

"My Nephew is injured," he replied cautiously, hoping that these Men would prove themselves honorable.

As the came into the light of the fire Haelmir noticed that Hal's nephews were twins, alike as two peas. They were shorter than their Uncle by a hand yet they both possessed his quicksilver eyes and dark hair, though they kept theirs tied back in a single braid. They even dressed the same, in dark green tunics and brown trousers beneath leather cuirasses and grey cloaks fastened with a silver brooch in the shape of a star. The only difference between them was the leather archer's bracers one wore and the small canvas rucksack his brother had on his back

"As it happens, so is mine." Hal replied drolly, gesturing with his head to the nephew who was an archer.

"I am not," the twin protested in an aggravated tone. "The knuckle guard on my sword broke and took my finger with it." he held up his right hand where his smallest finger was indeed crooked.

"I have some skill as a healer, would you like me to look at your nephew?" his brother asked.

"Yes, thank you." Haelmir said gratefully. "Your name is?"

"Walker," the man said, grinning as if it was a jest. He sobered as soon as he saw Húrin and, brushing aside a protesting Handir, he forced his Nephew to allow him to see the wound.

"You cannot camp here tonight," Hal said as Walker made Húrin sit while he asked him questions.

"No," Haelmir replied quietly, gazing at the bodies of the orcs. "Where did they come from?'

Hal shrugged. "Mount Gram probably, or perhaps Carn Dûm. Never managed to rout all the orcs from that thrice cursed place. You are fortunate it is summer when few of them dare to descend from their mountains and cross the plains to vex us. They make their dens in the caves found throughout the North Downs and when the nights are long you might get scores of orcs in these hills."

"Then we are fortunate indeed," Haelmir said. "You wish us to spend the night in the City?"

"Aye. 'Tis more defensible than this place." Hal gestured to the empty plain around them.

"You think there are more out there?"

"Nay, I do not. But, as my Grandmother would say, 'tis better to be safe than sorry." Hal replied drolly.

Haelmir snorted, liking the man despite himself.

"You will come with us?" he asked, wondering if he could trust this Ranger.

"I suppose we must. You appear to need looking after," Hal answered lightly.

Haelmir was about to give a retort when Walker stood up and said "The wound is not deep but it will still need to be stitched closed, I deem. His mind seems clear and I do not think there is any other damage to his head besides the cut. We ought to wash the wound. Come, there is water in the canal," he said as he helped Húrin to his feet.

"Do you mean the creek? You wash in that and it will become infected," Handir objected scowling.

"Do you know of any cleaner water?" Walker asked drily.

"Aye. Our skins are filled with water we boiled today." Haelmir said as he retrieved a water skin that he had placed beside his bedroll.

"You boil your water?" the twin sounded surprised. "Give it here," Walker proceeded to pour the skin over his Nephew's cut which was still bleeding heavily.

"Handir, help me brake camp." Haelmir ordered because the man was glaring suspiciously at Walker.

They hastily gathered their gear and stowed it in their saddlebags. Haelmir packed Húrin's belongings as Walker removed a linen rag from his rucksack and had his Nephew use it to help stop the bleeding. It took some time to sooth the horses, agitated as they were by the smell of orcs. Morsûl, ever the warhorse, kept stamping on their corpses with his giant feathered hooves. Walker left for a short time and returned with a handful of yarrow leaves that he pressed against Húrin's scalp to staunch the bleeding.

Haelmir announced that he and Handir would go and find a suitable place in Fornost to spend the night since they would be faster with their horses. Hal and his nephew's would walk and Húrin would walk his horse with them so that Walker might keep a close watch on his wound. Hal looked as unhappy about this arrangement as Handir did, nevertheless they said nothing as they mounted their horses, leading the three other behind them with their halters.

As soon as they were far enough away so as not be hear, Handir said angrily "Why did you leave Húrin with them!"

"Because I do not think they wish him or us harm. They need not have aided him yet they did. And if the worse comes, he is on a horse and they are on foot. He may outrun them at need."

"You trust them? Men with names like Stalker and Walker?" Handir said incredulously.

"Not completely. I do not think they have not been entirely honest with us. Did you notice that they use the Elvish word for Orcs?"

"I do not know Elvish. I thought perhaps it was Adûnaic,"

"Nay, the word it is Sindarin. That is an Elvish language," he added at Handir's look of incomprehension.

"But why try to deceive us, if their motives are pure?" Handir asked.

"That is what we needs must discover."

* * *

><p><strong>Glossary<strong>

**Longsword (English):** a two-handed long sword with a straight, double-edged blade and a cross shaped hilt developed in Europe in the 13th century. The 'long' in longsword refers to the length of the hilt which is long enough to accommodate two hands. Sword length is usually around 35 to 43 inches. Sword weight is usually around 2 to 4 pounds. In the movies Andúril is a longsword.

**Score (English): **another word for the number twenty.

**Barad-dûr**** (****Sindarin):** the Dark Tower. Was the chief fortress of Sauron on the Plateau of Gorgoroth in Mordor. It was destroyed in Second Age 3441 during the Last Alliance but its foundations remained and it was rebuild in Third Age 2951. It's where the Eye of Sauron kept watch over Middle-earth and bred orcs to bedevil the Gondorians.

"**…****wearing** **boiled leather vests"** **(English): **boiled leather is hard and stiff. It was once the cheapest form of armor available.

**Falchion (English):** a one-handed, short sword with a straight, single-edged blade that was developed in Europe in the 11th century. Designed as slashing weapons they look like a modern machete. Commonly thought to be peasants' weapons, they are fairly easy to make. The orc swords from the movies look a lot like a falchion.

** "…****his falchion, poorly made, shattered on impact.": **iron and steel become brittle when forged as the crystals fracture. To toughen the metal, you have to temper it. That means you reheat it at a lower temperature to partially melt the crystals and then cool it (quenching) so they reform. This is where the art of iron smithing comes in. Poor smithing results in a brittle blade that is liable to shatter.

**Broadsword (English):** a two-handed long sword with a straight, double-edged blade and sloping quillons. Developed in Scotland in the 15th century, also known as a claymore. Has an average overall length of 55 inches, an average blade length 42 inches and an average weight of 5 to 6 pounds lb.

**Backsword (English):** a one-handed long sword with a straight, single-edged blade, developed in Europe in the 14th century. They were the first type of European sword to be fitted with a knuckle guard. Called a 'backsword' because the triangular cross section gives a flat back edge opposite the cutting edge

**Targe (English):** Old English word for shield. Usually refers to various types of round, concave shields used by infantry from the 13th to 16th centuries in Europe. Generally, a targe was between 18 and 21 inches in diameter. It was formed from thin wooden boards covered with leather. It had straps on the inside: one was adjustable by a buckle to be attached to the forearm and the other fixed as a grip for the left hand. They were often decorated with patterns by riveting the surface with brass or silver nails.

**Mount Gram (Westron?):** mountain in the Ettenmoors that was that inhabited by Orcs. In T.A. 2747 they attacked much of northern Eriador.

**"…****yarrow leaves that he pressed against Húrin's scalp to staunch the bleeding": **yarrow (Achillea millefolium) is a flowering plant in the family Asteraceae. It is native to temperate regions of the Northern Hemisphere and likes open meadows. It has been used medicinally for millennia because of it properties as: a hemostatic agent (blood stauncher), a febrifuge (fever reducer), an analgesic (painkiller) and an antiseptic (infection preventer). Its Latin name comes from Achilles, hero of Trojan Wars, as he and his soldiers were said to have carried the plant into battle to care for wounds.

**"…****.used the Elvish word for orcs": **in Westron, or Common Speech, the word for orc is 'orka' but the Northern Rangers are using the Sindarin word 'orch'. In Adûnaic the word for orc is 'urku'.

**"…I do not know Elvish": **Tolkien notes in his other writings (The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien, Letter 347) that Sindarin was only commonly spoken by the nobility and by those who lived in the Princedom of Dor-en-Ernil and Minas Tirith. I've always assumed that Faramir's Rangers spoke it because he made sure those in his company understood Sindarin. Handir is not noble born nor is he from Dor-en-Ernil or Minas Tirith so he has no reason to speak Elvish.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: The Rangers of the North**

Lord Haelmir chose to make camp in what must have been someone's garden, near the city's entrance, behind the ruins of what was once a fine townhouse made of white limestone. Three of its high walls still stood, the other had partially collapsed leaving a space wide enough for the horses to pass through. The ground was covered in knee-high grasses and Handir spotted mustard and onions growing that had gone wild. There was well in the center of the square, its stones covered in moss. They saw to the horses, hobbling them and removing their tack.

Then Lord Haelmir departed so he might lead the so-called Rangers and Húrin to their camp. Handir set about clearing some grass so he could build a fire. There was plenty of dry wood to collect in the street in front of the house and Handir soon had a large fire blazing. He retrieved a kettle from their supplies, filled it with water, and set it to boil after throwing in several handfuls of spearmint that was growing next to the well. He laid out his companion's bed rolls and his own, though he thought they would little use them this night.

Handir was sitting cross-legged before the fire, positioned to keep the garden's entrance in clear sight, sipping mint tea from his cup by the time his father-in-law returned with the others. Walker helped a protesting Húrin off his horse and made him sit by the fire while Lord Haelmir saw that the horse's tack was removed and the beast hobbled with its fellows. He watched as Walker inspected Húrin's wound in the firelight. The cut was crusted with blood, high on his forehead yet below the hairline, and Handir was pleased to see it had stopped bleeding.

Walker removed his canvas rucksack and from it he withdrew a small cloth bag. Stalker and Hal had been scouting the street outside the garden and were apparently unable to find fault with it for they sat by the fire on Handir's right, much to his displeasure. Lord Haelmir retrieved his tin cup as well as his nephew's from their saddlebags and offered the tea to men, whom accepted. Lord Haelmir poured the two cups full of the steaming liquid and gave them to the men who thanked him.

"Might I use your pot?" Walker asked, gesturing to the kettle. "We do not have our supplies with us and I must needs heat these." He held up the cloth bag, displaying the inside, which was full of dried leaves.

"It is not yet empty," Lord Haelmir warned.

"What is it?" Handir asked suspiciously. As a Ranger he had some knowledge of healing and he did not yet trust these men.

"'Tis comfrey leaves for your friend's head and my Brother's finger. This is spearmint, yes?' he asked as he sniffed the contents of the kettle.

Handir nodded.

"Then it ought not matter if I steep them together. If naught else, it with make it taste better." He proceeded to place a handful of leaves in the kettle and shift it so it rested on the hottest coals. "Will you watch these, Uncle? I must see to my fool Brother's hand. Take care not to let them boil,"

Hal grunted in acknowledgement, moving closer to the fire so he might watch the pot more easily.

"You are fortunate this is a clean break," Walker said, gently feeling his brother's crooked finger.

Stalker snorted "I do not feel fortunate. Thrice have I broken the knuckle guard on that sword in two years. Who knows how long it will be until I can get it repaired."

"If you learned to block properly perhaps you would not break so many," Walker said lightly.

Stalker's retort turned into a cried of pain as his brother took that moment to sharply jerk his finger back into proper alignment.

"Warn me when you are about to do that!" Stalker said angrily, clutching his hand to his chest.

"It hurts less if I do not," his brother said practically.

Walker retrieved his rucksack from where he had placed it on the ground, withdrawing a small linen cloth from inside. Going to the fire, he removed the kettle from the heat and poured the infusion into the cups his uncle and brother had finished using. He then removed the leaves from the bottom of the pot and wrapped them in the square of cloth. Thrusting the both cups into Stalker's hands, Walker went to Húrin and pressed the cloth on his wound while telling his bother to drink the tea.

"This poultice should help prevent infection from setting in. Hold it here until it grows cold, then I will sew it closed."

"Should that not wait 'till morning? You will have better light then," Lord Haelmir suggested.

"Nay, the moon is bright enough. The longer I wait the worse the scaring will be and your wife shan't thank me for that!"

Handir snorted and Húrin proclaimed that he would not mind waiting for daybreak as he was not yet married.

"All the more reason to mend it now. You are fortunate the cut does not show through your hair but women can be fickle about these sorts of things. Best not to hurt your prospects," Hal said, grinning.

Húrin grimaced, no doubt anticipating how much the stitching would hurt. Walker had returned to his rucksack, rummaging through it until he found what he was looking for which was a small needlebook. From it he remove a curved needle that Handir has seen healers use. It was already threaded and Walker took a stick from the fire, lit it, and passed the metal through the flame several times. Walker then knelt beside Húrin, brushing the hair out of his face and tilting his head to find the best angle to take advantage of the firelight.

"I will be as swift as I can but you must hold still," Walker said and Húrin hissed as the needle pierced his skin but did not flinch.

"Can you not give him some meadowsweet?" Stalker asked.

"You ought to know that you never give meadowsweet to someone with a head injury. Do you listen to anything I say, Brother?"

"You say things worth listening to?" Stalker replied, feigning surprise.

"You think there are more Orcs out there?" Húrin asked, his voice tight with pain. Handir thought he must be seeking something to distract him.

"'Tis unlikely," Walker answered. "Yet even if some escaped, they are scattered and will not brave the daylight. We were fortunate none of them were archers."

"You ruined a perfectly good ambush," Stalker said. "We were we attempting to cut them off when we meet you. Others were driving the Yrch toward us but had to divert when we saw your fire."

"Istagir peded edhellen?" Lord Haelmir asked in what Handir assumed was Elvish.

The three Rangers were silent for a long movement.

"Thad, pedim edhellen." Hal finally replied, in was Handir assumed was the same language.

"You are Dúnedain." Lord Haelmir said quietly. It was not a question.

"Aye," Hal sighed. "I am Halbard, son of Arahael. My Nephews are Halmir and Haladan, sons of Aradir, my late Brother."

"Which one are you?" Húrin asked the twin whom was halfway through stitching his cut closed.

"I am Halmir. A star shines on the hour of our meeting," Walker said sardonically.

"Does it?" Húrin asked, sounding confused.

"Mae g'evennin," Lord Haelmir said gravely. "Then it is true that our Northern kindred yet live."

"So it seems," Halbarad agreed wryly.

"You said the Steward sent you to seek after us? Yet never before has Gondor sought to inquire of us,'" The Ranger's demeanorad hchanged and he spoke more formally than he had previously.

"Lord Ecthelion, the Steward of Gondor, has in his service a great captain called Thorongil. He came from Rohan but is clearly of Dúnedain heritage. King Thengel of Rohan said that he came to them from the North. Thorongil is evidence that the descendants of the Men of Númenor still dwell in the Lost Realm of Arnor. Our Lord has sent us to find these Northern Dúnedain and I am to broker an alliance with them, if I am able." Lord Haelmir said carefully.

Halbarad cocked his head. "You seek to ally with us? Why now, after all these centuries of silence?"

"Twenty five years ago, Mount Doom burst into flame and the Dark Lord returned to Barad-dûr. Since that time, not a year has gone by when Gondor has not been beset by enemies. We must fight a war on three fronts with Easterlings in the North, Haradrim in the South and Mordor to the East," Lord Haelmir gazed into the fire for a moment and when his next spoke hos voice was soft.

"We are hard pressed. Our position is tenuous and we are unable drive these foes from lands that were once ours. We would ally with any whom might help us stand against the Shadow."

Halbarad sighed. "I do not have the authority to treat with you, even if I desired to do so. Yet neither is it my place to dismiss your offer out of hand. Tomorrow we will make for Arnost. There you may speak with our Chieftain and decide what is best for both our people's."

* * *

><p><strong>Glossary <strong>

**Comfrey** a common name for plants in the genus Symphytum. These herbaceous perennials are in the family Boraginaceae, native to Europe they grow in damp, grassy places, and are frequently found on river banks and ditches. Comfrey's have a black, turnip-like root and large, hairy broad leaves that bears small bell-shaped flowers. Comfrey's were historically used as an external remedy for sprains, swellings and bruises, and severe cuts. They were also traditionally used internally to speed the healing of broken bones; the comfrey's are also known as 'knitbone'. The name comfrey attests to this historical use as it is a corruption of the Latin _con firma_, meaning 'firm together' and its botanical name, Symphytum, which is derived from the Greek _symphyo_, meaning 'to unite'.

**Needlebook (English): **book-shaped needle case, having leaves of cloth into which the needles are stuck.

**Meadowsweet** **(English):** a perennial herb in the family Rosaceae (_Filipendula ulmaria_). Native to Eurasia, it is also known as meadwort and grows in damp meadows. Meadowsweet was historically used as a febrifuge (fever reducer) and an analgesic (painkiller). It was also used to flavor beer and mead, and as a black dye. In 1897, Felix Hoffmann created a synthetic version of salicylic acid derived from meadowsweet and this new drug was named aspirin by Hoffman's employer Bayer AG, after the old botanical name for meadowsweet 'Spiraea ulmaria'. You don't give aspirin to someone with a head injury for the same reason you give it to people having heart attacks: it thins the blood and can make internal bleeding worse.

**"****Istagir peded edhellen?" (Sindarin):** 'You know how to speak Elvish?'

**"****Thad, pedim edhellen" (Sindarin):** 'It is true, we speak Elvish'.

**Mae g'evennin (Sindarin):** 'Well met'. This is the formal version, literally, 'You (plural) are well met'.

**Arnost (Sindarin): '**Royal Fortress'. A name and place of my own invention.


End file.
